


Indomitable

by sophisticus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fenris is a stubborn asshole, Hawke Lives, Multi, after "Here Lies the Abyss", after "What Pride Had Wrought", everyone lives au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisticus/pseuds/sophisticus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sure, Varric's letter SAYS that Hawke didn't make it out of the Adamant Fortress alive, but Fenris was never one to let a little thing like the Fade keep him from his Hawke.</p><p>ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11706225/1/Indomitable</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letters

Soft candlelight illuminated the bedroom. A man with shaggy white hair leaned back on the headboard of the bed, arms crossed over his chest. White lines swirled and crossed over most of his visible skin. Against his skin’s dark hue, the lines stood out in stark contrast. A slow smile played upon the corners of his lips.  
  
Fenris kept his eyes fixed upon the figure standing in the doorway. She stepped forward slowly, languidly, her bright blue eyes fixated upon his green ones. Marian reached up and allowed the sheer robe to slip off her shoulders and pile into a heap at her feet. Fenris’s eyes widened at the sight of her skimpy black underwear and breast strap, and he sucked in a breath as he felt a twitch below his stomach. She smirked at the sound and approached him on the bed.  
  
Marian’s hands slid up his thighs leisurely, stopping just before reaching his now obvious arousal. Her lips ghosted over his collarbones and up the side of his throat, planting soft kisses against his skin, but always careful to avoid his routinely painful lyrium markings. His hands settled on her waist, marveling at how soft her skin was over the lean muscles that allowed her to swing her staff around as if it weighed nothing. When her mouth found his earlobe, his fingers dug into her skin as he sucked in another breath. Her hands, still on his thighs, began inching upwards once more…  
  
Fenris jerked awake as a heavy weight slammed into his midsection. He bolted upright, lyrium tattoos flaring from adrenaline, only to find the weight on his stomach was a grinning, dark-skinned little girl with unruly black hair and bright green eyes. She giggled at the sight of him, then slid off his stomach and the bed and bolted out through the bedroom door.  
  
The elf sighed, combing his fingers through his hair in an effort to tame it into some semblance of order. He trudged into the kitchen to find the little girl, who could be no older than two, straining to reach a tin of crackers on the counter.  
  
“Here, Bethany,” he said as he handed her one. The girl shrieked in delight and ran off, stuffing it into her mouth.  
  
Fenris watched his daughter stamp across the living space they shared, babbling incoherently as she played with the few toys that littered the floor. She looked more and more like her mother every day, apart from having his skin tone as well as slightly pointed ears, but Hakwe always insisted that Bethany looked much more like him. He smiled at the memory, before his good mood slipped away as his thoughts turned to his lover. Or rather, her absence.  
  
Hawke had been gone for almost six months now. Though she had written to him several times, he still worried about how much she was missing with Bethany. This was an important developmental period for a child, after all, and he wasn’t so much worried about his own parental skills as he was that their daughter wouldn’t recognize her own mother when she finally returned.  
  
Unbidden, the memory of Hawke’s departure flashed in his mind. Her determined expression as she told him under no uncertain circumstances that she would go alone. His own tumultuous emotions as he knew logically that someone had to stay and care for Bethany, but also knew in his heart that he wanted her safe, whether that was him going with her or her not going at all. They had argued, but eventually he had conceded that she was the better choice to help deal with the threat of Corypheus, whom Hawke had faced before. Thus, Fenris was forced to stay behind.  
  
Hawke had joked that perhaps she shouldn’t write back to him because it would just make him want to join her in her adventures. Fenris responded that if he had his way, she wouldn't be going at all, let alone by herself on such an incredibly dangerous journey. Marian’s lighthearted expression fell, and after an awkward silence he told her that she didn’t have to bother with letters, but that her safe and expedient return would be sufficient. Despite this, Hawke still wrote to him.  
  
While he missed her company dearly, at least he had Hawke’s words for comfort; he would read the letters aloud to Bethany, and it helped keep his reading skills sharp. She had sent a letter when she arrived in Skyhold, the hold of the new Inquisition, detailing some of the people there. (“I think you’d be most interested in Dorian, really. He’s funny and has enough sass to compete with my own sarcasm, but ~~he’s from Tev- he’s a ma-~~ he’s not from around here, so some of the customs confuse him.”)  
  
A second letter told him about the trip to the Tevinter ritual tower (“yes, it’s Tevinter ruins. You can stop scowling now”) and the discovery that the Wardens were using blood magic to fuel their insane plan (“yes, it’s blood magic. You can stop scowling now”). She then explained that Erimond, the man responsible for manipulating the Warden mages into binding themselves unknowingly to Corypheus, has retreated to Adamant Fortress. Hawke wrote that she and her Warden contact are headed there to scout it out, and see if it’s able to be taken by siege. (“I’ll write again after the attack; Cullen says it should be pretty straightforward, if not easy, to take the fort since it was built before modern siege equipment. You remember Cullen, right? From Kirkwall? He was there when Meredith when insane and turned into a glowing statue. Good times, right?”)  
  
Both letters were signed with her love, and a promise to return home to him and Bethany soon.  
  
It had been a few weeks since Hawke’s last letter, and it was about time he receive another one, if her usual pattern was anything to go by. He glanced out the window; the letters would come tied to the leg of one of the most monstrous crows he had seen in his entire life, and it would stare at him with beady red eyes as he carefully untied the paper. Then it would fly off, before Bethany had time to try and pet the “ber!,” as she called it.  
  
Almost as if it had read his mind, there was a sharp rap on the window pane, and Fenris found himself eye to eye with another of the intimidating creatures. And tied to its leg was another letter.  
  
He couldn’t help but feel his chest swell with emotion as he retrieved the letter. He had expected it sooner, and had consequently worried that something had happened to Hawke, but was relieved to find that she had simply been delayed.  
  
While Bethany played with a doll in the corner, Fenris sat himself down on the bed and opened the letter. But instead of Hawke’s nearly unintelligible scrawl, he found himself faced by Varric’s careful lettering.  
  
“Fenris,  
  
I can’t tell you how much I wish I wasn’t having to write this letter. The siege of Adamant Fortress was a success, but there was a complication. There was a bloody archdemon, and an explosion, and we were all falling. The Inquisitor saved us, she opened a rift into the Fade and caught us in it, but in the rift was a Nightmare demon. Hawke saved all our lives distracting it so we could escape.  
  
I’m sorry.”  
  
The letter slipped from Fenris’s limp fingers and fluttered to the ground. He stared blankly at the space where the letter had been, Varric’s uncharacteristically awkward words bouncing around his skull. Complication. Archdemon. Explosion. Inquisitor. Rift. Nightmare. Distracting.  
  
After all Hawke had been through, all she’d endured and bled for and fought for, all the death and sorrow she’d pushed past, after all that her last moment was being a _distraction?_  
  
“No,” he whispered. No, Hawke wasn’t dead. He refused to believe it. She’d endured the loss of both of her siblings, the Deep Roads, being nearly sliced in half in battle with the Arishok, the murder of her mother, the battle of Kirkwall, and an incredibly difficult pregnancy and childbirth of a daughter that neither of them were prepared for. She had dealt with all of that, and one little nightmare demon wouldn’t be the straw to break the hawk’s back.  
  
“Daddy?”  
  
Fenris looked up to find Bethany looking at him warily. She’d noticed his mood plummet. He held his arms out to her, and she ran into them, burying her face in the hollow of his throat. His arms wrapped around her and held her tightly. He closed his eyes and inhaled his daughter’s scent, fighting back the prickle of tears that threatened.  
  
Bethany pulled back but stayed within his arms. “Mama?” she inquired, cocking her head to the side. Fenris could swear he felt his heart break even further in that moment.  
  
“She won’t be back for a while,” he murmured. “But she WILL be back.”  
  
And although those words were meant more to soothe Bethany than to reassure himself, he paused and actually considered what he’d said. Slowly, a plan began to present itself to him, and he narrowed his eyes in thought. After a minute he nodded and stood, suddenly feeling more driven to do something than he had in months.  
  
“She will come back,” he repeated forcefully, more to himself than anyone. And in order to make sure she did, he had to get started. “But first, I need to go to Skyhold.”


	2. 1000 Miles

“You _can’t_ be serious.”

Aveline stared disapprovingly down at him over crossed arms. Fenris held his hands open entreatingly as Bethany ran past them and began pulling books off the lower end of the guard-captain’s bookshelf. Fenris grabbed her and lifted her into his arms, after correcting the books.

“Aveline, there’s nobody else I trust,” he pleaded. “I know you’ve already given me more favors and helped me far more than I deserve, but please, I _need_ you to take care of Bethany for me.”

Aveline sighed heavily. “Fenris…”

“If not for me, then do it for Hawke.”

The ginger woman stared hard at the elf, as if weighing his sincerity, then sighed again. “You said yourself that Hawke is dead.”

“She’s in the Fade,” Fenris corrected firmly. “Not dead.”

“ _Probably_ dead then. It’s been weeks now since this occurred, even if she survived this – this nightmare demon – there’s no way she could survive that long in the Fade without food or drink.”

“In the Fade, imagination defines reality. All she has to do is imagine that she has sustenance, and she will,” he argued.

Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Alright…alright. Clearly there’s no arguing with you on this. For Hawke then, and for her daughter, if not for you. I just hope you don’t end up leaving your daughter with two dead parents instead of one.”

Fenris’s heart soared. In that moment, he almost could’ve hugged the warrior, but her expression warned him he would regret it if he did. “I will send word once I have Hawke,” he promised.

He set Bethany down and held her so she looked him in the eyes. “I’m going away now,” he told her, “and I might be gone for a while. But Aveline and Donnic are going to take excellent care of you, and they’ll make sure you’re safe.” By this point Bethany had lost interest and had run off, but he looked back up at Aveline, his expression pained. “She likes humming. Or singing. Or any kind of music. It soothes her when she gets temperamental.”

Aveline’s exasperated look softened somewhat, and she nodded. The two clasped hands, shaking them solemnly, before the elf turned to leave. Just before he reached the door, Aveline called to him.

“Here…passage across the Waking Sea isn’t cheap,” she said, tossing him a small pouch of money. Fenris tucked it into his belt with a nod of thanks, and closed the door behind him just in time to hear Bethany begin to cry. The sound tore at his heart, but he steeled himself and strode away, trying to feel purpose in his heart instead of dread that Aveline was right.

 

~

 

How Hawke had managed this when she fled Ferelden, Fenris thought to himself as the floor beneath him pitched for the thousandth time that day, he would never know. She’d told him that the trip took two weeks cramped in the hold of a tiny boat. As his hands and feet blistered from rubbing against the coarse wood of the floor, to keep himself from sliding around, and his leggings and jerkin had long since rubbed his skin raw from the wet material being constantly against his skin, Fenris thanked the Maker that his trip was to be much shorter.

Only four days had passed before the side of the ship bumped into the dock and the gangplank slid out to connect the tiny boat with dry land. Fenris trudged out of the hold and down the plank, and gingerly hobbled onto the dock. As if the heavens themselves had been waiting for this moment, the oppressive clouds parted to allow some weak rays of sunshine through.

Fenris had never usually been one to suffer from sea-sickness on the water, or sea-legs on dry land, but this trip was already testing his endurance. And so it was with only a slight wobble to his step that he set off in a generally south-east direction.

Finding people who would take him in the direction he wanted to go was easy. This “Inquisitor” that Hawke had written about was fairly unheard of in the small village that he and Hawke had settled into in the Free Marches. Here in Ferelden, the title was on most people’s lips and was spoken with a reverence rivaling Andraste’s name. It took almost no effort for him to find someone heading in the direction of Skyhold fortress, and only slightly more effort to find someone willing to let him ride along with them. As far as anybody was concerned, he was simply another refugee seeking protection with the Inquisition.

The group he’d chosen to travel with, a farmer’s family, were cheerful enough despite the chaos going on. “The inkistator is fighting demons and darkspawn!” one of the three children cried as they dramatically acted out the slaying of some foe, complete with waving invisible swords and casting invisible spells. The mother shushed them, and they all continued on their way.

The days were largely monotonous, just an endless march through the dirt, with the children riding on the ox-drawn cart whenever they got tired. They told stories to pass the time, though Fenris tended to keep most of his to himself. He did tell them, however, of a wolf who’d broken free of captivity, and had had his soul saved by a hawk, and how the two of them became close friends who protected each other always. The children laughed at such a silly story, but the two parents looked at each other knowingly. Eventually, the oldest child pointed out Fenris’s lyrium markings and asked what they were.

Fenris hesitated before answering. “They are…tattoos.”

“They don’t look like no tattoos I ever saw.” The girl drew closer to him, to get a better look. “They’s white. Most tattoos are dark.”

“They’re special tattoos,” the elf said shortly. He didn’t feel it appropriate to explain the full story behind the painful markings, especially to a child. The mother seemed to take the hint, and drew the girl into a different conversation.

Though Fenris was thankful for the lack of truly big monsters attacking, he did end up protecting them all from wolves, giant spiders, and even a single tiny dragonling. He refrained from using his lyrium markings. That was more for the sake of not scaring the farmers than anything.

Finally, the group finally began trekking up the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. Fenris guessed that it might take over a week to make the trek up the mountain, maybe two if he stayed at the snail’s pace of the farmer’s family. The thought of taking that long made his stomach clench up tight; after all, the longer he took, the more likely it was that something would happen to Hawke in the Fade. He struggled with what to do; on one hand, this family had a slim chance of making it to the hold by their selves, but on the other hand _he had to get to Hakwe._

He was in the middle of a particularly intense mental debate when a throaty yell jerked him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see a short, dirty man blocking the path. Behind him were half a dozen similarly-armed thugs, grinning confidently at them.

“Lookie here, lads,” the leader drawled, “more refugees for Skyhold, looks like. There’s a tax on this road, you know, and it has to be paid to ensure that the path up stays clear and safe. Upkeep n’ all, y’know.”

“I don’t know, boss,” one of the thugs behind him said suddenly, pointing at Fenris. “That one’s not like any refugee I ever saw.” Fenris stared the man down, and the other man dropped his eyes.

“That’s why it’s just a tax, instead of, say, a refugee tax. They pay it regardless of if they’re refugees or not.” The leader turned back to the group, smiling in what he probably thought was a friendly manner. “Tell you what. You lot obviously only took what you could carry on your backs. Fleein’ the mages and Templars, and the demons, am I right? I’ll do you a favor. The tax is usually twenty five silvers a head, but I’ll give you a break, on the account of you being poor and all. I’ll only ask ten silvers each.” He gave a greasy grin. Fenris felt his temper flare up, bubbling beneath his skin.

The farmer and his wife were flabbergasted. “We don’t have that kind of money!” the wife protested. “We were barely able to save some clothes and food for ourselves!”

The leader tutted. “Well that won’t do at all!” he exclaimed. “We can’t let you pass, then.”

As one of the children began crying and the husband tried bargaining with the man, Fenris surprised them all by stalking up to the bandit leader and grabbing him by the throat. He couldn’t restrain his temper anymore; his lyrium tattoos flared, and his fist sunk into the man’s neck to wrap almost gently around his windpipe and spine. Fenris waited until true terror filled the bandit’s gaze, then he dropped him on the ground.

“Let us pass,” he growled.

The bandit coughed. “Fucking elf, you’ll die for that!” he shouted. “Kill them all!”

The fight was so one-sided it was almost laughable. Within a minute, all seven men lay dead at Fenris’s feet, blood soaking the ground and gore in Fenris’s gauntlets. He felt droplets of blood that had splattered on his face, and he tried wiping them away but succeeded only in getting more blood on his face. He glancedd back at the farmer and his family.

They clutched their children close, shielding their eyes from the massacre in front of them, and two of the children sobbed in fear. Fenris dropped his eyes, suddenly ashamed.

He turned and began walking, stopping only long enough to say, “I’ll leave the path clear for you.”

 

~

 

Since he no longer had to hold to the pace of the farmers’ poor mule-driven cart, Fenris made excellent time up the mountain. He began seeing people who could only be Inquisition soldiers and lookouts. They directed him up the mountain, warning him of any pitfalls or poisonous plants that may have otherwise waylaid him. He encountered some other refugees of the mage-templar war, and they offered to travel with him, but he declined all of them.

Only five days after he had left the company of the farmer’s family, but nearly a month after he had first set out from his and Hawke’s tiny village, the gate to Skyhold finally came into his view.


	3. Kairos

Fenris had to admit, this fortress that the Inquisitor had built was an impressive one. The stone walls were undoubtedly ancient but bore signs of recent repair. Most of the army camped along the frozen river far below Skyhold, but the hold itself was full of agents and warriors, ready to act upon a moment’s notice.

As eager as he was to find this Inquisitor and shake answers from her, Fenris was no fool. This task would need to be approached very carefully. One wrong move could end him in prison. One very wrong move could end him, period.

The tavern, Herald’s Rest, ended up not being as helpful as he’d hoped. The bartender had been more than happy to chat about the Inquisitor’s heroic deeds; surviving the Conclave blast, sealing the massive breach in the sky, facing a darkspawn magister, derailing an assassination plot on the empress of Orlais, and surviving yet another physical visit to the Fade. She had just recently returned from a trip to the Arbor Wilds, according to the barkeep, and was spending some time recuperating before the Inquisition launched its final attack upon Corypheus.

“You’ve arrived at a tumultuous time, my friend,” the dwarf rumbled. “Things are gettin’ very exciting ‘round here, very exciting indeed. I bet if you talk to the commander, he’d put you in the army here. Ancestors know we could use the extra sword.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Fenris replied. “One last thing, do you know where I can find the Inquisitor? It’s very urgent that I speak with her right away.”

The dwarf’s brow furrowed. “Ya know, that’s a good question, actually,” he said slowly. “Usually the Inquisitor will spend time gettin' in touch with all her companions when she returns from an outing, especially a big one like this, but I haven’t seen her for a few days. It ain’t likely she went out again so soon, especially considerin' the big fight comin’ up. Try askin' those folks she usually goes out with, like that storyteller, Varric. They’re close buddies, come in here for drinks sometimes.”

Fenris thanked the man and left, mulling over the information he’d gathered. He would confront Varric, certainly, but not until after the Inquisitor had been dealt with. He didn’t want her being tipped off.

The stories circulating about this woman were impressive tales indeed, if even half had any truth to them. And yet, he still hadn’t found out what he needed to know: _where_ he could find her.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long to find some servant who told him which door in the main hall led to the Inquisitor’s quarters. Fenris waited to enter until the rest of the room was briefly empty.

When he approached the door, however, he found it flanked by a guard on either side.

“I need to speak with the Inquisitor,” he said.

“Not possible,” one guard said.

“Her Worship is resting after the assault in the Arbor Wilds,” the other added. “We’re under strict orders from the commander to not allow anybody to bother her.”

“Try again tomorrow, if it’s so important,” the first guard suggested. Then they both stared straight ahead, conversation over.

Fenris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Yet another setback. But he had come this far, and he was not about to let two guards and one hundred paces separate him from a chance to get Hawke back safely.

It didn’t take long for the shadows to lengthen and for evening to claim the hold. Torches sprung to life at regular intervals along the walls, and activity everywhere quieted to a hush. The guard patrols walked by every few minutes, and a few crickets chirped lazily from the bushes.

A shadow rose from where it had been crouched on a bedroll by the surgeon’s tent. It moved quickly and quietly up into the main hall, empty apart from a single sleepy guard still standing by the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters. Fenris briefly considered taking him out silently, but decided against it. He decided against attempting to sneak past him, as well. He would stick with his original plan, which he’d come up with while waiting for night to fall.

He crept out into the hold garden, whose only occupant was a chantry sister kneeling and praying at the feet of a statue of Andraste. He slipped past her and ascended a set of stairs which led up to the walkway above the garden.

Fenris had to crane his neck to stare up at the tower which held the Inquisitor’s quarters. He could faintly see torchlight flickering from the stained glass windows, and his stomach clenched. _She’s in there,_ he thought. _No sense for a torch to be lit if nobody’s home._ As he watched, the light flickered out.

He laid his palm against the wall, letting the tips of his clawed gauntlets scrape against the stone. The grooves between the giant stones were enough to get his fingertips and toes into, certainly, but it would be a noisy ascent with his armor. He fiddled with the straps on his gauntlets until they loosened enough to slip off, and he tied them securely to his belt. He gripped the stone, testing if it would hold his weight without any wobbling, and set off up the side of the tower.

Fenris cursed whoever had originally built the hold. Why anybody needed one specific room to be twenty meters higher than the rest of the place, he would never be able to guess.

For several minutes, the only sound was the soft breeze and his own breathing. He had plenty of stamina, it came with being a warrior as well as being on the run for his life for the past too many years, but after a while of agonizingly slow progress he found his fingers and toes cramping, and felt a stitch developing in his side.

He found himself thanking whatever gods were listening that he had put on a hooded cloak. His silvery white hair would be a dead giveaway if the moon decided to peek out of the clouds like it was threatening to. Similarly, if he were to allow his lyrium markings to flare up, he would absolutely be spotted. So he had to keep calm and collected.

But as he slowly approached the ledge of the balcony, Fenris couldn’t help his heartrate accelerating at the thought of finally getting some answers out of the woman who had left his lover in the Fade. He would get her to take him to the Fade, either by diplomacy or force, but he was going either way. Consequences be damned.

Finally, he grasped the edge of the balcony. For one second he hung suspended in the air, far over the miniscule guards below and the tiny pinpricks of the torches they carried. Then with a grunt he hauled himself up and over the railing. He landed lightly on his feet, despite his aching muscles, and immediately hid behind the wall section between the two glass doors. He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath while he put his gauntlets back on before he peeked around the wall, into the darkened interior.

He could see an expansive room, dimly lit by what appeared to be a dying fire. _A fireplace_ , he realized belatedly. _That’s what I’m hiding behind._ He could see a desk, a couch, and against the far wall, a massive bed with at least one occupant sprawled upon it.

Fenris allowed himself the slightest smile as his heartrate skyrocketed again, beating a staccato rhythm against his ribcage. He clenched his fist to still a tremble that threatened to betray his nerves. Slowly, he eased the glass door open, and slipped inside.

Fenris’s bare feet made no sound on the carpet as he approached. The shapes on the bed slowly resolved into two figures, half-covered by a thick blanket to ward against the chill in the evening air. One of them was a man with unruly curly hair. Although he couldn’t make out much of the man’s facial features besides a scar on his lip because of the darkness, Fenris couldn’t help but feel like he’d seen the man before. He shrugged it off and turned his gaze to the man’s companion.

Fenris didn’t know what he had been expecting the Inquisitor to be, but he was not expecting…this. All the tales had led him to believe that she was incredibly powerful, terrifying on the battlefield, stunningly beautiful, and would kill you as soon as kiss you. But this woman sleeping soundly next to her lover looked like any other ordinary woman.

Of course, Hawke would do this exact same thing when she slept. When she was unconscious or completely relaxed, she was a completely different person then when she was on the battlefield or in an argument. You could almost forget the fact she had defeated the Arishok in single combat and lived to tell the tale.

 Fenris let his eyes trail over her, taking in her cropped silvery hair and delicate features. He reached out, his hand hovering above her sternum. This was it, the moment he’d been anticipating for weeks. His hand lowered, heart pounding, lyrium tattoos already faintly glowing.

The Inquisitor shifted in her sleep, a sleepy sigh slipping past her lips. Fenris didn't wait for her to wake up enough to defend herself. He plunged his hand into her chest, ready to crush her heart at a moment’s notice.

Her half-asleep shout of surprise woke her lover. The man jerked awake, instinctively scrabbling for a massive longsword from where he’d apparently had it tucked under the edge of the bed. But that wasn’t what Fenris was focused on.

His throat was suddenly hot as he felt the edge of something touch his skin; something that was not truly there but burned like a hot wire against his flesh. His eyes flicked down to find a massive, brightly glowing blade held against his throat. The blade hummed with a strange power and flickered like a flame, emitting from a solid sword hilt. The Inquisitor didn’t seem particularly bothered by his intrusion and assault now that she was actually awake. She held his gaze intensely, apparently sizing him up, face illuminated by the clearly magical blade.

Her lover swore loudly. “Get away from her!” he shouted, brandishing his blade at him.  Then, the tip of the blade lowered as he looked harder at the elf. “Wait…is that…Maker, Fenris, is that you?”

Fenris’s eyes flicked over to the man so he wouldn’t risk moving his head. Yes, he had indeed seen this man before: Cullen. He’d been in Kirkwall, Hawke had had dealings with him in the last few years they were in the city. Fenris knew from Hawke's letters that the Templar was here, of course, but of all the places he’d expected to find him, in bed with the Inquisitor was the last.

“Fenris?” The Inquisitor frowned. “I know that name. Where have I heard…oh.” Her brows lowered in realization. “You’re here about Hawke.”

“Yes,” Fenris hissed. He could feel a trickle of blood creeping down his neck from where this strange blade was making contact with his skin. His hand remained in the woman’s chest around her heart.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked. She was surprisingly calm, considering that the slightest twitch of his hand could kill her at any moment.

His lips twitched. "I certainly considered it."

Cullen swore again but didn't move any closer. But Fenris could tell he was carefully analyzing every detail, weighing whether or not Fenris would actually go through with it. "You don't have to do this," he offered. "We can discuss this calmly,  _without_ threatening to kill one another."

Fenris glanced at the warrior, noticing how tense the man was. Ah, so he had strong feelings for this woman, then? The elf looked back at the Inquisitor. "As it is," he continued as if he had not been interrupted, "I happen to need you."

"Before we continue," the woman interjected, "let's put away our respective weapons. Because frankly, I don't appreciate people other than Cullen touching my breasts."

Fenris was thrown by the joke, but shook it off. He pulled his hand out of her chest and finally allowed the lyrium to dissipate from his fingertips. The bright blue glow faded until only the white markings on his dark skin remained. Likewise, the giant glowing blade the Inquisitor held winked out of existence, and she laid down the hilt upon the rumpled bed sheets. Cullen reluctantly set his sword aside too, but still eyed Fenris warily.

"Evans, are you okay?" the warrior asked in a low voice. The woman, Evans, nodded before facing Fenris again. Her face was set with resolve and earnestness, but the elf could almost detect a hint of guilt too.

"Alright, why do you need me and what does it have to do with Hawke?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

Fenris allowed himself a thin smile. "You're going to take me into the Fade, and we're getting Hawke out."


	4. Adjudication

If Evans was surprised by his words, she didn’t show it. Instead, she nodded as if she had been expecting that. “Yes, I rather think so,” she said.

Cullen gaped at her. “You must be joking,” he said scathingly. The man crossed his arms over his chest. “You barely escaped alive from the nightmare demon last time.”

“I killed the nightmare demon myself, if you’ll remember,” she reminded him. “It’s the nightmare demon’s pet that tripped us up at the end.”

“Yes, and Hawke died ensuring that you would get away from it safely, not so that you could throw her sacrifice away jumping back into the Fade!”

“Hawke is _not_ dead,” Fenris interrupted in a low voice. “I’d know it.”

Evans looked back at him, seeming to size him up. She sighed. “Alright, if we’re going to actually discuss this, I’d like to please get out of my nightclothes and put on something more decent. Fenris, I’d like to continue discussing this at the war table, if that’s acceptable to you. It seems as an appropriate place as any to plan a rescue mission. Tell the guard outside the hallway to this room that I sent you and that he should show you to the war table, and that he should send for Josephine and Leliana, if they wish to come. I’d value their input on this.”

While Cullen sputtered indignantly, Fenris nodded tightly. He turned on his heel, and descended the stairs out of sight.

 

~

 

Evans waited until she heard the door shut before she let out the breath she’d been holding in. She turned to face Cullen, her face set in determination. “Alright, go ahead and yell at me,” she sighed.

“I cannot believe you’re honestly considering this,” he said immediately. He drew close to her, pulling down the collar of her nightshirt to examine her chest for any damage caused by Fenris’ lyrium attack. Finding none, he let go of her shirt and instead sat on the bed. Evans sat next to him and looped her arm through his. Their hands intertwined and she kissed his knuckles gently.

“It’s the right thing to do,” she replied. “I know you think she’s gone, and she might be, but if there’s even the slightest chance she’s alive, I owe it to her to try. Hawke saved all our lives. Not just Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, and mine, but by extension yours, Josephine, Leliana, the refugees here, our entire army, and arguably everybody in southern Thedas. I’m not a fool enough to think that our part in these events is so small that our lives can be thrown away; I know that in order for Corypheus to be defeated, certain key players must be protected. The events in the Arbor Wilds the other day prove that. I just wish it didn’t have to be Hawke doing that protecting.” Evans looked away.

“If that’s the case, why haven’t you gone back to get her sooner?”

“We’ve been focusing on stopping Corypheus,” she shrugged. “I planned on doing it once he was dead. Time operates differently in the Fade, after all. We were in there for what felt like an hours, but we got out to find that only a few minutes had passed.”

“I still wish you had let that witch, Morrigan, drink from the Well of Sorrows instead of you,” the commander groused. “Exposing yourself to such a risk is completely unnecessary. You do know you almost _died_ , right? You’re only alive because Solas helped heal you, again. Hawke’s sacrifice would have been for nothing. And look at the effect the well has had on you; you’re barely yourself. Normally you would’ve been quick enough to slay Fenris before he managed to reach any vital points in your body.”

“I know, but my instincts were telling me not to let her drink. I trust my instincts, they’ve kept me alive far more times than I care to count.” Evans rubbed her chest absentmindedly, where the elf had plunged his hand inside her ribcage to grip her heart. “ And my instincts were telling me that he didn't intend to kill me. Besides, he didn’t actually do any harm.”

“Why did you ask Hawke to stay instead of that Warden, Alistair?” Cullen had already asked this question not long after they all returned from Adamant, but his lover had refused to answer, saying there were more important things to be doing than speculating over decisions that could no longer be changed. “I know you had a bit of hero-worship going on with Warden Alistair, considering he helped defeat the blight with the Hero of Ferelden, but ever since you met Hawke, you _adored_ her.”

Evans sighed, but thought carefully before replying. “Warden Alistair is the last remaining Warden outside of Weisshaupt. He will be needed to help rebuild the Wardens and to command them as they grow. I could not leave Thedas without someone to combat the next blight.”

“If Corypheus wins, a blight will be the least of our worries,” Cullen reminded her. She smiled, then reached up and kissed his cheek.

“Then we won’t let him win,” she replied.

 

~

 

Twenty minutes later, all three advisors, the Inquisitor, and Fenris had gathered at the war table. The commander eyed the elf with a frown, clearly still upset about Fenris’ attack on the Inquisitor.

“Alright,” Evans said, clapping her hands together. She’d changed into a beige long-sleeved shirt with shiny buttons over dark pants and soft, sensible boots. Cullen however had put on his full armor, which for some reason included a huge mane of fur around his shoulders. Fenris thought to himself how inconvenient that would be in battle, as it would limit his field of vision significantly. “Leliana, I assume you already know what’s going on, considering you practically know if someone’s going to sneeze before even they do.”

“I _am_ good, but I am not quite _that_ good,” the spymaster replied with a faint smile.

“Josephine, have you been told the details yet?”

“Not yet,” the other woman said. She drew her night-robe closer around herself to ward off the chill in the air. “Oh, I wish you’d given us more warning about this meeting. I didn’t have time to put on my usual dress, I feel at such a disadvantage.”

Evans smiled. “You look fine, Josie,” she reassured her. “You’ll recall the siege upon Adamant Fortress, and the resulting fall into a Fade rift?”

The Antivan nodded. “Yes, and Hawke stayed behind to guarantee your safe return.”

“Yes, Hawke stayed behind,” Evans echoed. Fenris clenched his fists, impatience gnawing at him. He was _so close_ to getting Hawke back. The Inquisitor turned to look at him. “But Fenris here has a theory – a plan – to attempt to rescue Hawke. Fenris, would you like to explain to us your plan?”

Ignoring Cullen’s dirty look, Fenris stepped up to the gigantic war table. He glanced over the two maps of Orlais and Ferelden, scattered with tokens marking various missions and locations. Around the maps were various miscellaneous objects, scrolls, and tokens. He looked back up at the people standing around him. They all looked at him expectantly.

Fenris cleared his throat. “I need the-”

He was interrupted by the door creaking open as two figures strode inside.

“- must be important,” one of them, an imposing woman with short hair and a scarred face was saying in a brusque tone. She wore armor with a surcoat featuring a single giant eye, and rested her hand almost unconsciously upon the hilt of a large sword. She was speaking to her companion, a short stocky man who Fenris realized with a jolt that he recognized; Varric.

“All I’m saying is, it’s gotta be close to two in the morning, and whatever it is can probably wait,” the dwarf replied. “You don’t get looking as good as I do by staying up until all hours of the night…” He trailed off as the two reached the group surrounding the wartable, and as his eyes finally fell upon the elf. Fenris watched as the rogue’s normally ruddy face went pale faster than Fenris could light up his lyrium markings. “F-Fenris,” he sputtered. The elf’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head very slightly. _Later._ Varric seemed to understand. The dwarf nodded.

“Fenris, this is Cassandra, previously a member of the Seekers,” Evans said, gesturing to the woman with the scarred face. She nodded curtly at him. “And I know you already know Varric.”

Fenris turned back to the rest of the group as the two newcomers drew close to the war table as well. He continued speaking, addressing all of them now. “I need the Inquisitor to use her power to open a rift into the Fade, so that I can enter the Fade to track down Hawke and bring her back.”

“You want to go into the Fade? On _purpose_?” Josephine interjected, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious,” Fenris responded.

“It’s been over a month since the siege,” Leliana pointed out. “Even if she could manage to evade malicious demons and spirits for that long, how would she get food and water? Her likelihood of survival is slim at best.”

“I agree,” Cullen added. “It’s too risky. And you've told me before, the Fade is infinite. You don't know if you'll arrive anywhere near where Hawke is.”

"Are you going to ignore the fact that the last time people went physically into the Fade on purpose, they  _created the blights?_ " Cassandra interrupted. "Inquisitor, you have  been in the Fade physically twice already. It's a miracle that nothing worse has happened than finding that nightmare demon."

“Elf, Hawke is _gone_ ,” Varric said softly. Fenris rounded on him, hackles raised.

“And whose fault is that?” he hissed. “You could’ve stopped her from going to the siege, you could have kept her safe.”

Evans stepped forward, between the two. “If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine,” she said firmly. “But now isn’t the time to point fingers. If we’re going to do this, we need to do it quickly. Like I was telling Cullen earlier, time passes differently in the Fade than in reality, just as dreams feel like they can last several hours, but you actually only dream for a few minutes at most. So over a month has passed for us, but for Hawke it could be as little as several hours, a day at most.”

“We can’t know that for sure,” Cassandra pointed out. Evans rolled her eyes.

“I think I know how the Fade operates,” she huffed. “I deal with it on a more regular basis than the rest of you.”

“Because of your power over the rifts, correct?” Fenris asked.

Evans let out a short laugh. “Oh, nobody told you?” She raised a hand, fingers splayed, and allowed a spark of electricity to flicker between her fingers. Fenris repressed a shudder. “Usually people can’t wait to say that it’s a mage leading one of the most powerful forces in southern Thedas, but I guess you didn’t really have a traditional welcome to the hold.”

“My question remains,” Fenris said, his eyes fierce. “Inquisitor, will you help me rescue Hawke?”

The atmosphere in the room became tense as everyone looked to the mage. The time had come to make the decision. She looked at her companions and advisors, who one by one nodded. They would support her, even if they personally disagreed with her actions. Evans let out a breath and drew herself up. She turned to face Fenris, shoulders squared and jaw lifted.

“Alright, elf,” she said firmly. “We’ll do it.”

The group spent a long time hammering out the details of how they would go about safely reentering the Fade, and by the time the plan was fully developed, the first rays of sunlight were creeping through the huge windows. Evans told Fenris that a guard would show him to a guest room if he wanted. Fenris reluctantly accepted the offer, more tired than he cared to admit.

As all seven of them dispersed, heading either for their offices or beds, Fenris thought he overheard Varric mention to Cassandra that it was a good thing that “Sparkler” didn’t want to attend the meeting after all.


	5. Once More Unto the Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reworked the spacing between chapters and was able to extend this chapter to a more normal length.

Morning dawned early, mere hours after the meeting at the war table had ended. Fenris paced back and forth within his guest room. To be so close to finally finding Hawke, but to be so far away at the same time, was driving him insane.

“We’ll wait until sunrise,” Evans had told him. “That way we’ll have the necessary soldiers to ensure everyone’s safety.”

As the sun climbed slowly into the sky, its first rays peeking over the battlements into the courtyard, Fenris quietly left Skyhold just like he’d been instructed. But before he reached the path that wound down to the base of the mountain, he turned right onto a nearly invisible trail that led into the patch of woods that surrounded part of the hold. The trail led to a tiny little grove, barely the size of the tiny home that Fenris, Hawke, and Bethany had shared back in the Free Marches. Cullen, Cassandra, and Varric were already there, chatting quietly among themselves, along with two elves, four humans, and a Qunari. Behind him he could see a handful of Inquisition soldiers. One of the human companions, a young man with an over-sized hat, opened his mouth to say something as his eyes fell on Fenris. Evans shook her head tersely, stopping him.

The Inquisitor had changed into what Fenris assumed was her battle armor, a long leather coat and heavy boots. Her staff, strapped to her back, had a long and wickedly sharp blade at the end that somehow reminded him of Hawke’s own staff. Evans gave him a wave when she saw him. Varric tried smiling at him, but it wilted under Fenris’ cold stare.

“Alright,” Evans said brightly, drawing everyone’s attention. “Like we discussed at the war table, Leliana’s agents located this grove where we can do this in relative safety.  Cullen’s soldiers will be guarding the path from the grove to the hold to both keep wandering people away from the rift, and to keep wandering demons away from the hold. And Josephine will handle any nobles or diplomats who may come calling while we’re in the Fade. I’m going to take a small team, including Fenris here, into the rift and search for Hawke,” the Inquisitor continued. “Outside the rift, Cullen will be with some of his best soldiers, helping keep any escaping demons contained."

Fenris didn’t spare any time wondering who all these people were. “Are we going to get this over with or not?” he barked at the Inquisitor.

“Yeah boss, let’s get going,” the Qunari interjected. His massive horns swung from side to side as he cracked his neck, grinning. "I'm not going in there with you, but I'll sure as hell kick some demon ass for you."

“Are you sure this is wise?” one of the humans, a man with a bushy black beard, grunted from the back. “You barely escaped alive from the Fade the last time.”

“This’s gotta be one of the dumbest fricking ideas you’ve had yet, mate,” one of the elves, a woman with a bow, piped up.

“Yes, let’s get this started,” Evans said. “Varric and Cassandra have both agreed to go back with me, but I’d ideally like one more person to go with us. Dorian, you were with us when we fell into the rift at Adamant, but if you’d rather stay in reality instead of going back, I’ll understand.”

“All due respect,” the dark-skinned human replied haughtily, “but I’d rather shave off my mustache and wear plaid than go back into the Fade physically. I’ll play backup for you, but I still think this whole misadventure is a terrible idea.”

Evans nodded as if she’d expected this. “In that case, I’d ideally like _you_ to accompany us, Solas. You know more about the Fade than anybody here.”

One of the elves, the tall bald one, stepped forward. He had a staff too. _Another mage,_ Fenris thought to himself. _Is there no end to them?_

“I’d be glad to accompany you,” Solas replied. “I may be able to help pinpoint Hawke’s location more quickly.”

“Good, then we have our rescue party all sorted,” Evans exclaimed. “Cullen, are your men ready?”

“As ready as they’ll ever be,” the commander said dryly. “Evans, I still don’t like this,” he added in an undertone. Fenris had to strain to hear him. “What if you get hurt? Who will stop Corypheus then?”

“I’ll be fine, love,” the Inquisitor replied. She planted a quick kiss upon Cullen’s lips, then turned and faced the center of the clearing. “I won’t be able to close the rift from inside the Fade,” she said loudly, addressing everybody, “since we’ll need an escape route. That means demons and spirits might be drawn through. Be vigilant. If I come back to find that someone let a rage demon loose in the hold, I’ll have to crack some skulls together.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder, but it lacked her normal humor. The Inquisitor was anxious, and it showed. “Okay, let’s get started.”

Fenris, Evans, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas stood near the center of the clearing. Everyone else arranged themselves in a circle around the edge of the clearing, weapons at the ready. Fenris drew his own sword, gripping the familiar leather-wrapped hilt tightly. The Inquisitor cracked her knuckles, glanced one last time at Cullen, then held her left hand out in front of her.

Her eyebrows drew together in concentration. Sparks of electricity jumped from fingertip to fingertip, and everyone tensed, ready for any demons that might come forth.

Nothing happened.

“Solas?” Evans said tersely.

“The Veil isn’t particularly thin here,” the elf supplied. “Perhaps your experience with _sealing_ the rifts, rather than opening them, is what impedes you?”

“Any suggestions?” the Inquisitor threw over her shoulder.

Before Solas could do more than open his mouth, there was a sound like a crack of lightning and green light burst forth in the center of the grove. Fenris shielded his eyes for a second until the light dimmed. When he lowered his hand, a rip in the air hovered in front of him, bright green light pouring out of the space.

The soldiers and companions around the edges of the clearing let out exclamations of surprise, and gripped their weapons more tightly as they readied themselves. Evans whipped around, staring at Fenris intensely.

“Alright, elf,” she shouted over the cries of the soldiers and the strange humming that emitted from the rift. “Now’s your chance. Let’s go get Hawke.”

The elf nodded tightly, heart in his throat. The Inquisitor turned and stepped through the rift. Fenris followed her, and his surroundings vanished in a flash of bright green light.

The world spun around him, his surroundings jumbled into a chaotic blur. He was falling, rapidly approaching the ground, but before he could do more than open his mouth in surprise, he slowed to a halt a few feet away. He hovered in the air for a moment before gravity kicked in and he hit the ground with a thud, forcing the air from his lungs. Similar thuds around him told him that his companions had arrived too.

He sat up with a grunt, grateful that in the turmoil he hadn’t accidentally impaled himself on his sword. Evans was already standing and brushing dust off her coat. “Apparently that’s just what happens when you enter the fade,” she remarked. “That same thing happened last time.”

“Makes you wonder if that happened to Corypheus all those years ago,” Varric added. “Just imagine Mr. I’m-Going-to-Breach-the-Golden-City falling flat on his face.”

“Can we please just get moving?” Cassandra interrupted. “I do not wish to linger here any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, as fascinating as this is, we should not linger,” Solas agreed. “Best not to tempt fate to release something else as horrendous as the blight upon the world.”

Fenris grunted in agreement. “Does this look like where you last saw her, Inquisitor?” he asked. He had been in the fade before himself once before, albeit not physically. He’d helped Hawke to save Feynriel, the elf-blooded human boy, from his own nightmares and to learn to control his unusual powers as a mage. The fade had then taken the shape of Templar hall, inside the Gallows at Kirkwall. Now, however, the fade looked completely different; the walls were sheer cliff faces of black rock, pools of dark water lay everywhere, and the entire place was cast in a green glow, making them all look ghastly pale.

Evans rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “It looks vaguely familiar, but it’s the Fade. It could look like this because we want it to. Or, it could look like this because our desire to be near Hawke actually brought us closer to her.”

“Here, imagination defines reality,” Solas pointed out.

“Then let’s imagine that Hawke’s close by and that we find her quickly,” Fenris grunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized in the middle of this chapter that Solas has the whole "the fade reflects the world around it" speech so technically they'd need to reenter the fade at Adamant Fortress in order to be near Hawke's last known location, but we're gonna pretend that's not a thing here, and that you just end up where you need/want to be.


	6. Invenire

The group split up into two groups, one with Varric, Solas and Cassandra, the other with Fenris and Evans. The groups went in opposite directions after agreeing to meet back in the small clearing in fifteen minutes if they didn’t find anything.

After a few minutes of silence on Fenris’s part, Evans finally spoke up.

“He blames himself too, you know.”

Fenris grunted, unwilling to be drawn out of his admittedly broody attitude.

“Varric told me more about you and Hawke,” she continued. “I know you must be angry with him-”

“You don’t know anything about it,” Fenris hissed. “He should’ve protected her.”

Evans sighed. “If you know Hawke at all, you know the only person capable of protecting her, is herself.”

Fenris staggered in surprise but steadied himself quickly. He hated to admit it, but the Inquisitor was right. Hawke was always bigger than life, and attracted enemies proportionate to that. And no matter how much he may have wished it, he would never be enough to keep her safe. And if he couldn’t do it, how could he expect Varric to?

“You didn’t ask if I blamed you, too,” he said finally.

Evans shrugged. “I asked your lover to sacrifice herself so the rest of us could escape,” she said lightly. “I assume your anger with me came part of the deal.”

“It does.”

The mage laughed. “I have an ancient darkspawn Tevinter magister who wants to be a god wanting me dead. I think I can handle one angry elf.”

Fenris glared at her. After a moment, he changed the subject.

“So, if you’re a mage, how can you wield a sword as big as the one you had back in your room?” he asked.

Evans laughed a little. “Anybody can learn to properly wield a sword, a dagger, a shield, or a bow with enough training. The only difference is what skill level you’ll achieve. Warriors tend to focus on swords and shields. Mages almost always focus on their magic, but might spare time to learn a bow. They can have some talent at it, but won’t be as skilled as the average rogue.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Well, I’m not the average mage. I’m a Knight Enchanter. An Arcane Warrior, if you want to be technical about it.” She pulled the sword hilt from her belt, and with a flick of her wrist, the massive glowing blade blazed to life once more. “I can create a blade out of my own mana, weightless apart from the hilt, capable of bypassing any armor.” The blade flickered out of existence, and she tucked the hilt back into her belt. “It’s a skill that’s actually a remnant of your own culture, Fenris.”

“My own culture?” he said suspiciously.

“The elves were the first ones to marry together skills both arcane and mundane. Dirth’ena Enasalin, if I remember right. It’s probably about as close as I’ll ever get to being a warrior. I’ve read most of the material available about it, I could tell you all about it when we return to Skyhold, if you like,” Evans offered.

Fenris grunted. “I’ll pass. As I’m not a mage, I’ll not be able to make use of it.”

“Alright, suit yourself.”

 “Inquisitor!”

The shout came from behind them. Fenris whipped around, hand gripping the hilt of his sword again. Evans held her staff in front of her warily. “Yes?” she shouted back.

“We found something!”

Fenris’s heart began pounding, and in a flash he was running in the direction of the voice, leaving Evans protesting behind him. In a minute, he came up upon Cassandra, Solas, and Varric, standing around a burnt corpse curled up on the ground.

“Could it be a sign of Hawke?” Cassandra asked. Evans approached the body and prodded it with the blade of her staff.

“Could be,” she mused. “’Course, it could’ve been any other monster or demon who lives in the fade. But I do sense some residual mana in the air.”

Fenris couldn’t help but agree. The air felt charged with static.

“Lightning,” he murmured. Evans nodded.

“Looks like we’re on the right track,” Varric said.

“Yes, Hawke has definitely been here,” Solas agreed.

“Come on then,” Evans said. “I see another body that way.”

The group set off, every now and then coming across a burnt monster corpse. The frequency of the bodies increased until they were surrounded by them. Suddenly, Evans held up a hand, stopping them in place behind a walled corner in the path. She suddenly looked rather pale.

“I recognize this part,” she whispered. “If this is where I think it is, we need to be very careful.”

“ _Is_ this where you think it is? Because I think I know where you think it is, and if it is, then it’s bad,” Varric whispered. Cassandra shushed him.

Evans peeked slowly around the corner. Whatever she saw caused her knuckles to whiten over their grip on her staff. Fenris tensed, ready for whatever monster loomed in their path. Hawke was so close, he could almost taste her.

“Holy shit,” the Inquisitor breathed. “I don’t believe it.”

“What is it?” Fenris asked.

Instead of replying, the Inquisitor stood, walking out from behind the rock. The rest of the group followed warily.

“She actually did it!” Evans said, awestruck.

Laying in the middle of the path, curled up in an impossible tangle of its own legs, was a spider bigger than Fenris had ever imagined spiders could ever grow. It had to be bigger than his Hightown mansion, and certainly bigger than the high dragon that he and Hawke had faced down in the Bone Pit years ago.

And it was dead.

It lay unmoving in a pool of its own blue blood, covered in multiple slashes and wounds from varying kinds of magic. The air still crackled with energy, making the fine hairs all over Fenris’ body stand on end. This had been a ferocious battle, that’s for sure.

“Incredible!” Solas exclaimed.

Fenris’ eyes fell to the ground next to the monster, drawn by a spot of red among all the green background; a blood spatter. _Red_ blood. Hawke’s blood.

“Come on,” he growled. He drew his sword and stalked off, in the direction of the now distinct blood trail. As he passed the monstrous spider, he spied a few tufts of fur caught in the claws of the creature. The fur was the same color as the fur that lined Hawke’s champion armor, and it made his stomach sink like a stone.

The blood by the spider had been dark and dried, but as they went along the blood looked fresher and redder. Fenris’ steps quickened, till he was nearly running full-out. He ignored the Inquisitor’s call behind him to slow down. He was _almost there,_ he almost had Hawke in his arms again-

He turned a corner and skidded to a halt. The path ran up to a cliff face and stopped, as did the blood trail. The rest of the group caught up to him as he looked back and forth in confusion. The trail simply _ended_ , as if Hawke had walked through the wall and vanished.

 _Maybe,_ Fenris thought, _that’s closer to what happened than we think?_

He stepped closer to the cliff, and his eyes spotted an indent he’d previously missed. As he approached, the indent revealed itself to be a tiny cave, more of a protected insert into the rock than anything. And slumped against the wall of it, ghostly pale beneath a shock of black hair and covered in her own blood but undeniably _there,_ was Hawke.

Fenris’ heart leapt into his throat and he fell to his knees beside her. He cradled her head with shaking hands. “Hawke, I’m here,” he murmured. Oh Maker, she felt so cold. Her head lolled limply in his hands, and her eyes didn’t as much as flicker. Fenris looked over her whole body, stopping with horror upon the ghastly wound on her leg. The muscle was torn open, shattered bone laid bare, blood still weeping from the whole thing. In that moment, he was sure he looked nearly as pale as she did, even with his dark skin.

“Oh Maker,” he heard Cassandra whisper behind him.

“Solas, get over here!” Evans snapped. “Stop the bleeding, quickly!”

A hand fell upon his shoulder, pulling him away from her, away from his Hawke. He shrugged the hand off, but it grabbed his upper arm more forcefully and yanked him back.

Fenris whipped around, a snarl upon his lips, to find himself face to face with the Inquisitor. She gave him a steely stare. Behind her, he could see Varric looking even paler than when he’d first seen Fenris at Skyhold, all traces of his normal humor gone.

“What!?” the elf spat. Evans didn’t flinch.

“You have to let Solas heal her,” she said firmly. “You’ll just get in the way right now.”

Fenris took a deep, shuddering breath, not wanting to admit she was right. He turned back to look at Hawke, but the elven mage blocked his view of her. A soft blue light spilled forth, and Fenris could taste the ozone of magic in the air.

The seconds seemed to take eternities to pass. Fenris pacing back and forth like a caged wolf the whole time. Varric sat on a rock, examining his own trembling fingers. Evans stared straight ahead, deep in thought. Finally, after several minutes, Solas stood, lines of exhaustion etched into his face.

“I did what I could,” he sighed. Fenris brushed past him, kneeling at Hawke’s side again. She still looked extremely pale but the bleeding had stopped. Her wound, though still clearly in desperate need of medical care, had been hastily sealed by a layer of new skin. It fitted the concave shape of it, thinly covering even the shards of bone poking out.

He reached out to her once more with still-trembling hands and lifted her unconscious body into his arms. Fenris cradled her to his chest, her head against his shoulder, and he planted a soft kiss to her hair.

“Let’s get back to Skyhold,” he said hoarsely. After a heartbeat, the group turned around and began walking back towards the rift.


	7. Resolution

Marian was floating, drifting quietly through warm, soft emptiness. Her limbs felt weightless, and for the first time in ages, the tight knot of anxiety didn’t have a stranglehold on her heart and lungs.

But why had she been anxious? She tried to remember, but thinking was too much effort. She allowed the thoughts to slip away, and soon she didn’t even remember that she had been anxious in the first place.

After what felt like years, or could have possibly been no time at all, the thought occurred to her that she was lying on something. Whatever this surface was, it was soft and warm. She slowly grasped at the surface with her fingers, and found it bunching up in her fist.

A blanket?

Hawke opened her eyes.

Her surroundings were blurred beyond recognition, nothing more than a softly lit gray and black background. But before she could become concerned about this, things began resolving into sharp lines and definite edges. Belatedly, she realized that she was lying in a bed and staring up into the highest ceiling she’d ever seen.

She turned her head to the left. A glass double door was off to the side, one of them open to let in fresh air. A desk was off to the right of it. Her eyes followed the room’s walls to pass over a second pair of glass doors, both shut, on either side of a roaring fireplace. She continued following the walls until her eyes fell upon a figure sitting in a chair next to her, slumped over on the bed.

Marian’s chest swelled with emotion at the sight of her elven lover as he slept, his head resting next to her arm. Fenris held her hand between both of his, with his dark skin making her look paler than she usually did.

He looked so much more haggard than when she’d seen him last. His dark circles were even more prominent than when he’d learned the truth about his sister years ago. As she watched, he twitched in his sleep and mumbled something under his breath.

Marian gently pulled her hand from his grasp and laid it on his cheek, stroking his smooth skin. He stirred under her touch. Green eyes blinked at her sleepily before they snapped wide open.

“Hawke!” he gasped. Before she could say a word, Hawke found herself enveloped in a painfully tight embrace. She could feel Fenris trembling against her.

She gasped a little; his hug had woken a deep searing pain in her side that made her eyes water. Fenris pulled back immediately, apologies spilling from his lips.

“I’m okay,” Hawke groaned, holding her side. “Maker, what happened to me?”

She began sitting up, but her lover held her down gently by her shoulder. “You should rest,” he said firmly. “You’re incredibly lucky to be alive.”

She batted his hand away and sat up anyway, despite his disapproving stare. She lifted up her shirt to examine her side. A truly magnificent bruise covered her entire left half of her ribcage, partially overlapping the massive scar bisecting her middle; the souvenir of her battle with the Arishok.

“Four broken ribs,” Fenris supplied, eyebrows drawn together. “They healed them as best as they could, but it will take time for the swelling to go down.”

“Fenris, what happened to me?” Hawke asked. She allowed her shirt to fall back down, covering the bruise. “The last thing I remember is taking down the...the nightmare demon. Why am I in this…unnecessarily fancy room?”

The elf sighed but sat on the bed next to her. He kept her hand in his, apparently unwilling to relinquish the contact.

“I rescued you. Well, _we_ rescued you. I convinced the Inquisitor to take me to the Fade so we could find you and get you back. You’re in the Inquisitor’s room,” he explained. “She insisted you use it while you recover after your surgery – in which you nearly died, by the way. She plans on staying with Cullen in the meantime.”

Hawke held up a hand, stopping him. “Wait, staying? As in… _staying_? With _Cullen_?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“The same Cullen we know from Kirkwall? Cullen ‘mages cannot be treated like people’ Rutherford? Having a mage _stay_ with him?”

“I believe a more accurate description would be ‘having sex with’.”

“Andraste’s dimpled asscheeks, Fenris, please _never_ say that again! That is NOT an image I want in my head.” Hawke mimed puking, and she finally saw a ghost of a smile crack on his lips. He must've been more scared than she’d originally thought. Terrified, even. The thought shook her to the core.

She sat up straighter and tried to will the fog to clear from her head. Her eyes fell to the thick blanket covering her, and her eyebrows drew together as she realized something was off. She began pulling the blanket away from her body, but Fenris’ hand covered hers and stilled her action.

“Hawke.” His eyes met hers and held her gaze. He hesitated; clearly he was unsure about how to proceed. “Just…don’t panic, alright?” He released her hand. After a second of deliberation, she pulled back the blanket completely.

Hawke sucked in a shuddering breath. Her hands shook, even when Fenris gripped her hands in his.

The lower half of her right leg was gone.

Her right leg ended just past the knee, which was neatly wrapped in clean white bandages. Belatedly, she realized the fog in her head was likely drugs to keep her from feeling the brunt of the pain. Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back.

“What…what happened?” she croaked.

Hawke could never before remember seeing Fenris look so somber. “We found you in the Fade,” he explained. “You were bleeding, and badly wounded…you were a breath away from death. We brought you back here, to Skyhold, and the healers and doctors did all they could for you. We left some minor injuries for you to heal on your own. The worst of them was your leg.” He glanced at the missing limb. “The spider monster had apparently injected you with venom of some kind when it gave you that wound. The healers could not save your foot…and they almost could not save the rest of you.”

Marian’s hand found its way back into Fenris’. She squeezed lightly, and he squeezed back.

“Your heart stopped for nearly a whole minute,” he whispered.

“Fenris…”

“How could you sacrifice yourself for them?” he demanded. “Fasta vass, you finally have a life free of fear of the Circle, and you choose to go get mixed up in the most dangerous events in Thedas right now, and fucking volunteer to stay in the _Fade-_ ”

“Fenris.”

His eyes snapped back up to hers as her hands cupped his face gently. She ghosted a kiss across his lips, then pulled him into a tight hug, ignoring her ribs’ protests. His arms wound around her after a moment.

They sat there, simply holding one another. After a few minutes, they heard a knock at the door. Fenris pulled away from her as they heard it open. He wiped his eyes and gave her a weak smile. Marian smiled back softly as footsteps came up the stairwell and the Inquisitor appeared.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asked. Hawke shook her head, and Evans came up to the bed.

“I see you’ve noticed your, ah,” Evans mumbled, and gestured towards what was left of Hawke’s leg, “your…yeah.”

“Yeah,” Hawke echoed.

“You know…while you were unconscious, after it was clear you were going to recover, I had Dagna make something up for you,” the Inquisitor offered. “I know you don’t know her, but she’s the best arcanist I know, and I told her to make it really special for you.”

“Actually, I met her once,” Hawke said lightly. “Please tell me she didn’t make me a bomb.”

Evans chuckled. “No, it’s not a bomb. Well, I don’t think so at least. It’s the most complicated looking thing I’ve ever seen her make. Would you like to see?”

Marian’s face fell. Before she could voice her doubt about her mobility, however, Fenris interjected.

“Is it necessary to have her up and about so soon?” he asked pointedly. “She _is_ recovering from a near death experience, after all.”

Evans raised her hands in a peace-making gesture. “I didn’t mean for you to go to see it, I was going to bring it up here for you. If you feel like guests, that is.”

Hawke nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll see Dagna,” she said eventually.

“Okay, I’ll go ahead and go get her.” The Inquisitor turned and descended the stairs again. However, she paused just a couple steps down. “Varric wants to see you too,” she added, addressing Hawke. “But he acknowledges that at present, he may not be welcome.” Evans’ eyes flicked over to Fenris, who remained silent. Then, she ducked her head and vanished out the door.

“You need to forgive Varric.”

“What?” Fenris snapped.

“Let it go. He did his best, but in the end I made my own choice,” Hawke argued. “Continuing to be angry with him will do nothing but make everybody miserable. We’re all safe and happy, even though there’s a long way to go to defeat Corypheus.”

Fenris stopped, the anger fading from his face. Suddenly, he looked almost…guilty.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I know that look. Something’s wrong.”

Fenris sighed. “Hawke…the Inquisition is planning its final assault on Corypheus, as soon as they can locate his lair,” he told her. “Evans succeeded in thwarting his plans to corrupt the Wardens, assassinate the empress of Orlais, as well as use an eluvian to enter the fade by roundabout means.”

Hawke stared at him in disbelief. “I was gone, what, a day? Two days? There’s no way all that happened in that time.” But as she stared at her lover, his expression told her differently. “Fenris…how long was I gone?”

“Hawke…”

“ _How long_?” she demanded.

He hesitated. “Over a month.”

Hawke reeled back, even more stunned than just a bit ago finding she had one less limb. “Over a month?” she repeated in a whisper.

“Time passes differently in the Fade,” Fenris said, echoing the Inquisitor’s words. Marian dragged her hands down her face wearily, trying to force the pieces of the puzzle into some semblance of order in her mind.

“You’d think I’d be used to this kind of thing, being a mage and all,” she sighed eventually. A thought seemed to strike her, and she squinted at her lover. He watched her warily, noticing her attitude shift.

“Where’s Bethany?” Hawke asked suspiciously. Fenris blinked, thrown off.

“What?”

“I swear to Andraste, Fenris, if you’re about to tell me that you left Bethany _alone_ in that tiny mabari shitpile of a village-”

“Yes Hawke, because I’m a completely irresponsible father. Of course I didn’t leave Bethany alone,” he said scathingly. “Venhedis, what kind of a parent do you take me for?”

“Well don’t tell me you took her _here._ ”

“Aveline and Donnic agreed to care for her until we returned.”

“You left Bethany in _Kirkwall_!?”


	8. Denouement

Hawke sat on the edge of the bed, right leg extended out on front of her to examine the incredible mechanical device that Dagna had attached to her knee.

“It’s electric, fire, and cold resistant,” the dwarf had explained cheerfully. “And waterproof so you don’t have to worry about removing it to bathe, unless you really want to. It runs on a self-contained lyrium circulation system powered by a runestone motor, which also allows for control over the ankle joint and toe joints. And I was almost done with this one when I thought about adding in textile sensors and transistors, so you could actually feel the ground the way you would with your own foot, so I’ve already started work on another one that you can put on at your leisure. I’m sure I’ll have it done soon!”

“That dwarf is unnecessarily energetic,” Fenris muttered to Hawke as the arcanist finally left the room.

“Show some respect,” Hawke muttered as she swung the prosthetic limb down to the floor in preparation to test it. “I’m sure she worked very hard on this.”

“That’s not in question,” he replied. The elf stood beside her, arms out, ready to offer assistance should she need it to rise and stay upright. She grasped his hands, and he pulled her to her feet.

Hawke’s knees buckled and Fenris wrapped an arm around her waist.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she reassured him. She stood up straight, and Fenris moved back to only holding her hands. She shifted so her weight was on her own feet instead of on his hands. Hesitantly, she released his hands.

“Huh, would you look at that,” she exclaimed. “I can stand on my own.”

Hawke took a tentative step forward, and when she didn’t immediately collapse, a grin split across her face. She grasped Fenris’s hand again, and he squeezed it gently. She managed to hobble over to the fireplace, and leaned on the couch.

“Victory!” she crowed.

Fenris’ eyes glinted with a rare humor. “Victory indeed,” he chuckled. “Soon you might also conquer feeding yourself with a spoon and speaking in full sentences.”

“An inspiration to toddlers everywhere," Hawke remarked. "This’ll take some time getting used to."

“Knowing you, you’ll manage it in no time,” Evans interjected from where she sat at the desk. “There’s only one more thing I need to bring to your attention, Hawke, before you two head home.”

“If you’re needing me to go to another Warden fortress with you, the answer is no,” Marian said lightly. Evans laughed.

“No, I’ve got everything covered in that department. The thing is…well, any day now we could head to finally destroy Corypheus. And as you well know, any one of us might not come out of it alive.” Evans’ expression became somber. “Varric has requested to speak to you both again. He wants to stay and see this Inquisition through to the end, but he knows he might not come back from it. Fenris, I know you’re still angry with him, but I urge you to at least briefly speak with him before you go. I think you might regret it if you don’t, and if something happens to him.”

“If something happens to him, it’s his own fault,” Fenris said coolly. Hawke laid a hand on his arm.

“We’ll talk to him, of course,” Hawke told the Inquisitor. “Please, send him in.”

A minute later, the door at the bottom of the stairs creaked open, and Hawke could hear the familiar clumping of the dwarf’s heavy boots. After a moment, the blonde appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Hawke,” Varric said softly. Hawke’s face split in a genuine smile, and she and the dwarf clasped hands.

“Good to see you again,” Marian said warmly.

“I’d say ‘good to see you in once piece’, but…” Varric said, gesturing to Hawke’s prosthetic. Fenris’ frown deepened. “Oh, don’t give me that look, elf, she thought it was funny!”

“Yeah, I think the Fade and I got off on the wrong foot,” Hawke joked, drawing a chuckle from the dwarf.

“You wanted to talk?” Fenris interrupted.

“Oh yeah, I did. Well, mostly I just wanted to see for myself that you were fully recovered. You were pretty gruesome looking when we found you,” Varric sighed.

“Oh come on, I always look incredible, even when I’m covered in blood and on the brink of death.”

“Not funny, Hawke,” Fenris growled.

“Anyway, yeah, I’m alive and recovering,” Hawke continued. “Dagna put together this handy little thing for me. It looks complicated as hell, but it has me upright and mobile, so I’m not complaining.”

Varric stooped down to examine the prosthetic. “Oh man, Bianca would get a _kick_ out of this,” he muttered to himself. He stood upright again and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Think you'll be back in fighting shape by time we take on Corypheus again?"

Hawke shrugged even as Fenris' scowl deepened. "Who knows? I have no idea how long it will take me to get used to this thing for everyday stuff, let alone for battle. If I'm back to top shape by then, then sure, I'll help. If not..." she shrugged again. "If not, I'll have to sit it out. Maybe sit somewhere up high and shoot spells from a distance, with Fenris here to help me backpack it out of there if things start to get hairy."

"I think we should just go home as soon as you've recovered enough," the elf grumbled. Marian's hand slipped into his, and he squeezed it lightly.

"Either way, I'm here to see this thing out to the end," Varric said firmly. He looked thoughtful for a second, and he grew somber. “Look, Hawke,” he grumbled. “I’m not very good at this touchy-feely stuff, so I’m just gonna come out and say it. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to keep you safe the first time, and I’m happy that we got you back mostly safe and sound. Now let’s just move on and pretend that you got your leg bitten off by a dragon or something.”

Marian laughed, and even Fenris’ ill mood seemed to lighten. “No need to apologize,” she said, and laid a hand on Varric’s shoulder. “I understand. Let’s move on.”

“Thank you, Hawke,” Varric said. “I should let you rest, though. Come see me again before you leave, we need to play Wicked Grace one more time before you go off to help save the world again.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Hawke grinned.

“Elf, you in too?”

Fenris gave a long-suffering sigh, but his shoulders slumped in defeat and there was even a ghost of a smile threatening on his lips. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.” The dwarf turned to leave, but hesitated at the top of the stairs. “Hawke?”

“Yes, Varric?”

He gave her a soft smile, not like his usual cheeky grin, but sincere and warm. “Welcome back.”

Marian sighed as the door shut below them. “That went much better than I expected.”

“What, you thought I’d try and kill him?”

“The thought crossed my mind.” She stretched, then took a few more experimental steps. She was still shaky, but already she was getting used to the balance of her new leg. “This is going easier than I thought it would. Care to dance? I hope you don’t mind if I’m not as graceful as I used to be, I’m all left feet today.” She gave him a cheeky grin.

Fenris groaned. “ _Hawke_.”

“What? Afraid of my usual foot odor? I’m betting it’s only half as bad as it used to be.”

“Hawke, no.”

“Come on, we just reunited! Let’s not get off on the wrong foot so soon.”

“Hawke, _no_.”


End file.
